Charles Todd - A False Mirror

“Do you know where I might find Constable-” He left the name open.

The barkeep’s face was closed. “Constable Waddington? May I ask why you’re looking for him? Is there trouble?”

“There’s been a break-in at a neighbor’s house, I’ve been sent to find him.”

“Well, then-he’s just stepped over to Mrs. Whittier’s house, sir. He-er-he looks in on her from time to time.”

“And where do I find Mrs. Whittier?” Rutledge asked patiently.

“On Linton Street, around the next corner but one. You can’t miss it, number forty-one. If I may ask, whose house has had a break-”

But Rutledge was gone before the man had finished his question.

The Whittier house was no more than a stairwell-and-a-room wide. He went up the front steps and knocked firmly at the door.

A woman answered the summons, her face a little flushed, her curling fair hair more than a little mussed.

“Mrs. Whittier?”

“Yes?” Her voice was rather breathless, and her manner dismissive, as if he had no business knocking at her door at this hour of the day.

“I’m looking for Constable Waddington. Will I find him here?”

The flush deepened. “Oh-yes. He was just-he was just helping me with the-attic door. I couldn’t shift it at all, and my trunk is in there-”

But Rutledge was already moving past her into the house.

“Waddington!” he bellowed, and the constable came hurrying to the top of the stairs, buttoning his tunic at the neck.

“Who are you?” the constable retorted. “And what do you want of me?”

“Inspector Rutledge, Scotland Yard. Come down here and get on with your duty.”

Waddington moved swiftly down the steps, straightening his tunic as he came, and brought up short at the foot of the stairs. Braced for a reprimand and worse. The skin around his eyes was tight with apprehension. He was a short, thin man, with a ruddy complexion, as flushed now as Mrs. Whittier’s.

Rutledge said, “I need you to identify someone for me. Hurry!”

Relief flooded Waddington’s face, and he cast a swift glance at the woman watching anxiously. A wordless warning.

Rutledge was out the door with Waddington at his heels, and they had hardly reached the bottom step before the house door swung quietly shut, the latch turned.

“I’m sorry, sir. Mrs. Whittier is a widow woman and-”

“-the attic door wouldn’t budge.”

Waddington trotted beside him, attempting to keep up. “Er, yes, sir.”

“There’s a man called Fields who appears to live on Swan Street, the fourth house down. The tobacconist knew him by name. Do you?”

Waddington responded, “Scarred face, tall?”

“Yes.”

“That’s his sister’s house. He’s been living there since her husband was killed last month. A widow, three small children-”

“What happened to her husband? What’s his name?”

They had nearly reached the tobacconist’s shop on the corner.

“Greene, sir. He was murdered. By person or persons unknown.”

Someone had known. Whether the inquest had been aware of it or not.

“Any reason for the killing?”

“Money, sir. A scheme that went wrong, one that was to make his fortune. Only he was taken advantage of and lost everything instead. All his savings. This according to the widow at the inquest. All the same, she couldn’t name the man who tricked him. Greene had kept his dealings to himself, wanting to surprise her, he said. She begged him to go to the police, but the next day he turned up hanging from a tree along the Thames. His killer tried to make it look like suicide, but it didn’t wash. He’d been garroted first.”

And the men in Green Park had been garroted.

They had stopped at the corner, and Rutledge indicated the house in question. “Is that where Greene lived, and Fields now lives with his sister?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s walk on, shall we? As if we’re looking for someone else.”

As they went on up the road, Waddington said, “What’s this in aid of, sir? Why are you asking about Mr. Fields? Do you think he committed the murder?”

“No. But I think he’s been out for revenge.”

A cab came along and Rutledge hailed it. “I want you to maintain a close watch on Fields for me. If there’s any change in his circumstances, call me at once. Or Sergeant Gibson, failing that. Meanwhile, keep this to yourself. I don’t want gossip in the canteen or the shops. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Am I to do anything else?”

“Yes. Stay away from Mrs. Whittier while you’re on duty.”

When he reached the Yard, Rutledge learned that Chief Superintendent Bowles was well on his way to an apoplexy, and screaming for Rutledge’s blood.

Stephen Mallory stood there at the foot of the stairs, staring helplessly at the woman weeping in front of him. “No, I didn’t mean that. I’ve put that all behind me. Felicity!”

Before she could answer, the maid, Nan, appeared at the top of the steps.

“Mrs. Hamilton?” she asked. “Is everything all right?”

“No-yes-” Felicity said, wiping her face with her gloved hands. “Thank you, Nan. I’ve just had bad news, that’s all.”

“Not your mother-” Nan said, her strong face registering alarm. “Oh, not your mother, ma’am.”

“She’s-it’s Mr. Hamilton. I’ll explain later. Could you find some tea for us, please? We’ll be in the sitting room.”

She walked briskly toward the rear of the house, and into a room that looked out on the sea. It was filled with windows, two pairs on the front and one pair on the side, and seemed to glow with the reflected light of the sun on the water.

Vantage Point. It was certainly that.

Sinking into a chair, she said, “Shut the door. What are we to do? Bennett will be here before we know it, after your blood. Casa Miranda is the first place he’ll look. And I must go back to Matthew.” Her voice broke again. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. Matthew hasn’t an enemy in the world, I can’t imagine why anyone should attack him like that, except in anger.” Looking up at him, she added irritably, “Do sit down, Stephen! I’m not accusing you, I’m just terribly confused, and worried and frightened. What have you done with your motorcar?”

“It’s in your shed, where Bennett or his men can’t see it from the road.” Stephen took the chair farthest from her. “Felicity, what good would it possibly do me to hurt Matthew?” He cleared his throat. “Look, even if I did away with Matthew, do you think I’d be fool enough to believe I’d have you then? That you’d forget him and walk off into the rainbow with me? What good would it do me to hurt Matthew, for God’s sake-it would be like hurting you.”

“Bennett won’t believe you. You ran, Stephen; it was the worst thing you could do.”

“I told you, I ran to you, not from him. That was uppermost in my mind, making sure you didn’t believe what he was saying. I’ll find Bennett now and apologize and let him ask me whatever it is he wants to ask me.”

“He’ll take you into custody. And there’ll be no end of fuss. They’ll drag our names through God knows what scandal, and in the end, it will be impossible to show our faces anywhere. I heard him raving in Dr. Granville’s office-” She stopped, unwilling to repeat to Mallory what had been said. “You can’t imagine how furious he is, how determined he is to blame you.”

“When Matthew comes to his senses, he’ll be able to tell them what happened-who did this to him.”

She looked at him. “What if he didn’t see his attacker? What if he doesn’t remember what happened? What if he dies without waking up? What then?”